The Fates

Part II: Hotel Apparition

I took out my cell phone from my rucksack and dialled the number from the agency. It rang twice before chiming off. I tried again. I was standing, looking at the castle.

It was absolutely magnificent,towering red with creepers crawling up the side and multiple high points to view the entire city.

"Man, I'd sure love to be up there!" I said peering longingly at one of the visible balconies.

It was midday and the sun was making its presence known. I wished the agency had told me what to pack; I had a billion hats I could've brought with me from home.

I blew out a breath and sat on the fountain tiles and placed my sloth-covered rucksack beside my sandals. I typed in the number, struggling to press the chubby, little buttons with my large digits. The phone rang and rang and rang.

But no response came. I, frustrated, stuffed my cell-phone back into the bag. I shrugged it over one shoulder and decided to find somewhere to lunch because the marimba began playing in my stomach.

"Now, where to eat?" I pondered as l walked past the streets that were cobbled.

I passed a man in a blazer that was a sharp currant colour.

"Buon pomeriggio, signore. Mi può dire come arrivare la... (could you tell me how to get to the restaurant)"

I paused and with his impatient greenish eyes he held the gaze of my mud pie eyes. I gestured to my stomach and made round motions. A torch seemed to light in his eyes.

He pointed left behind what looked like an Italian version of my flats in America, dilapidated and squashed together. He told me the restaurant was nestled in the housing area. I had to go left then head straight.

"Aaah," I said muddled up but I said graci in the most cheerful tone.

Then we parted ways. I followed his directions and came to an area buzzing with the chatter of clients on outdoor tables and with long queues of hungry customers.

Every so often there was a passer-by with a sandwich of some sort. I could see cafes, taverns and quaint family-owned restaurants. I didn't want to really wait long or eat a heavy meal as I planned to continue with my journey ahead.

I found a sandwich shop that was not too full, but with a good sized queue. The top of the shop had a new sign, the only new thing this shop probably brandished, that said Trattoria.

I stood under the shade for only fifteen minutes, as it was just past noon and not many people had arrived yet and the service was adequate. I have no idea what I ordered but thankfully, one of the guys making my sandwich understood English.

I just told him to give me the best sandwich. He took out this hard-looking rectangular bread, schiacciata, there was a white cheese, pecorino, smeared, and a ham, eggplants and artichokes with fresh parsley.

I took a bite and I detected a hint of saltiness, soft and milky texture and a nice meaty feel. I hummed in satisfaction heading back to the water fountain.

I re-dialled the agency's number and it was finally picked up. I had started pacing. That dense lady sounded confused when I spoke of continuing my tour in Siena.

"It's me! Makayla! You have to come get me, you forced me on this previous leg of the tour and it was a total waste of time!"

I waited silently.

"Oh, mi scusi. I will be there soon."

I cut the phone and stared morosely at the sloths painted on my bag before fiddling with the buttons. I was going to enjoy my last few days here.

After a long day touring Siena I booked into a small bed and breakfast. I had gotten Miss Bianchi to remove my remaining luggage from my accommodation in Pisa.

I had no reason to return; I had already scouted potential colleges and job opportunities for two days. Now in the last three I could relax and enjoy the culture of Italy and learn a bit of Italian hopefully? American guys loved girls that were multilingual. I slumped onto the single bed.

I shut my eyes and reminisced continually of my adventures in Pisa and compared it to the days out in Siena.

There was a similar undercurrent of old, Etruscan architecture, a hearty history that reverberated through the modern additions, that developed each passing of time, and a passion for food but each settlement stood out in its own way.

I felt a sudden breeze rush past my face. I felt an impending doom. My eyes suddenly snapped open. As I sat up on my hands my heart pounded. What was that?

My eyes flashed across the box room. I studied my surroundings; in the front left corner was a little, wobbly circular table holding a telephone and a cracked vase of flowers.

The right, where the window was, had a large shadow creeping toward my bed. I hopped so that my feet flopped on the bed, which prior to that were swaying off the edge of the wooden bed. Unadulterated fright ran red in my veins turning my body cold.

The flimsy, grey curtains hooked by toothpick nails above, flapped loudly as they as they whipped against the window sill. The wind whistled as it forcibly entered the room, chilling it. I gasped.

The window was closed when I entered. 

How had it opened then? I glanced either side of myself and found no intruder but dread had draped itself over my shoulders, like a mink coat on a hot summer, stifling me.

Fear clung to my belly desperately. I closed the windows, abruptly, halting the exodus of the chill. My black eyes strained in the dark when I saw a shadow by the lamps.

I swear I could spot a grand man standing near the flickering light pole. His head flicked up to stare at me with iridescent eyes that seemed vinaceous under the orangey light. His long hair beneath the fedora was brushed by the wind.

I screeched and when I blinked there was no man. Disturbed thoroughly I drew the curtains closed, hoping to forget the vision entirely. Maybe I needed rest...